It's a Wonderful Life, Except When It Isn't
by kelhome
Summary: It's Christmas Eve. Sam and Dean get a little assistance to help them reconnect.
1. Chapter 1

_A bit of a Christmas tale, in four chapters. _

**Chapter One**

Dean and Sam had been in the car about 26 hours. In the last four days they'd finished a hunt, in this case a Wraith-gone-bad, then tangled with some demons, then went and fought a freaking Gremlin who was slinging sickness and pestilence in Tennessee. They'd been doing the Energizer Bunny thing across the U.S. for the last month. Anything to lose the picture of Ellen and Jo waiting like sitting ducks for the hellhounds in that abandoned hardware store…They'd both thought, without saying a word to each other, that keeping busy would help with the grief and the fury. It did, only because they were so busy _not_ _dying _most of the time, that they couldn't think about anything else.

But now, things had calmed down. Well, calmed down meaning there wasn't a life-and-death crisis at the moment. It was giving them too much time to think. So, Dean just kept driving, stopping to fill up the car, use the john and get more bad food. Sam had called around, tried to find out if there were any hunts to be had, chatted up Bobby and Rufus and surfed the web. Strangely, there was nothing. Nothing but them, alone in the car, for hours and hours.

It was a little too up-close and personal. There was still too much between them and the ease of just shooting the shit and listening to music between hunts had pretty much dried up. Dean mostly saw the back of Sam's head as he stared out the window. Even turning up Zeppelin's II, which Sam _hated,_ didn't get a rise out of him.

_Well, this just sucked._ Dean wondered if he should suggest they get separate rooms at the next motel, just to get a break from each other. Sam would give him that look, though. The one that said, 'yeah, I know you hate me…it's fine…' Dean was sick to death of that look. He didn't _hate _Sam. He could never hate him. He just, too much had happened and he didn't understand the kid anymore.

Dean knew, he was holding too tight to the past. The Sammy who was his geek-boy little brother, the one who rolled his eyes at Dean's crude humor and tried to get him to read books and be nice to people; that was the kid Dean was wishing was sitting here with him. This guy? This closed-down, hollowed out version of muscle and remorse? Not so much fun.

Dean sighed and followed the state highway into the next town. Rumford, Missouri. Sam didn't look over or comment. Seeing the street all lit up with white lights strung between the telephone poles, it occurred to Dean that it was actually Christmas Eve. Not that it made much difference to the Winchesters. Christmas had not really been a big happy event for them, at any point in their lives.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a diner on the main street through the center of town. "You hungry?"

Sam rolled his neck. "Not particularly."

Dean barely kept from sighing. "Well, whatever. I'm starving. If you want to come, come."

Sam got out of the car. "Think I'll walk around a while. Text me when you're ready to go."

Dean watched him walk off, hands in his pockets, breath steaming out in front of him in the dusky, cold night. _Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, Sam. _There was something wrong with watching Sam walk away, on Christmas Eve, no less, and not caring. Sure, Sam and he were tied together, always had been, always would be. But, now…it was all knotted up. What had been so easy all their lives, had become a big, fat ball of awkwardness. At this point, he kind of wondered if they'd ever get back to just being brothers, doing the job and helping people. Now, they just rode around with regret, trying to clean up the mess they'd made of the world. The two of them, as friends? As brothers? Just didn't factor in any more.

Truthfully, the reality of Sam, and his crazy, sad-eyed, demon-fueled self, just felt too _heavy_ sometimes. _I don't really want to be rid of him. But, maybe, just…it would have been easier, for all of us, if he'd just never been born. Without Sam, maybe our family would have had a chance…_

But, there was no going back. Sam was his brother, and he'd do the best with that that he could.

Dean went into the diner and asked for a booth.

The hostess was a cute blond, about 20, and she gave Dean a bright smile. "Just one?"

"Yep. Just one." And, if he felt a little relief in saying that, well, no one had to know.

********

If Sam could have seen his woeful expression, he would have slapped his own head and told himself to get a grip. But, he couldn't, so he didn't. Instead, he walked around the cold Missouri town and sought _something. _Inspiration? Hope? Any excuse to keep walking so he didn't have to go back and face Dean wanting him gone?

Sam could feel it, running there between them most of the time, now. Dean's distance, his sense of duty keeping him next to Sam, when all he really wanted was to be rid of him. It sounded melodramatic, but Sam really thought that's where they were. He'd put a lot of time into thinking about how to change that. But, considering all that he'd done, all that had happened to Dean, and the whole angel/demon tug-of-war they were in, he didn't see how to fix any of it. So, they worked it out the best they could. They did the job. All their habits were intact. They were good hunting partners, knew each other's moves and watched each other's backs, no problem. But, the camaraderie, the _bond_ just wasn't there. Sam knew it, so did Dean. They couldn't really talk about it, because what was there to say? Sam knew he was mostly responsible for it, didn't shirk that responsibility.

But, he could still wish it wasn't so, right?

He turned the last corner of the main street, and kept walking. On the next corner, he saw an all-night Laundromat. There were a few machines turning, but it looked empty. It looked _warm._ Sam walked up and ducked inside. Some of his best memories of Dean were actually from the time they'd spent in Laundromats across the country. They would get so bored waiting for the last drying cycle, they would inevitably make up some game, or start some kind of one-upmanship competition, just to pass the time. "Hey, Dean, how many times in a row do you think I can get this pair of socks into that far dryer, chucking it just from here?" Or, "Okay, Sammy, ten hottest girls on t.v. right now, no age limit." Always something to amuse themselveswhile they finished the mundane chore of laundry.

Now, they did their laundry separately. Sam, in the middle of the night, because he wasn't really a champion sleeper; and Dean, after lunch and before dinner, so he could nap to the sound of the machines.

It was just one more thing that was gone.

Sam took a plastic chair at one of the long tables and let his shivers subside. He watched a dryer go round and round, and thought about the different ways to lose a person. Losing someone to death was like being in a hurricane, swept up so fast, so final. There was nothing to be done, no questions to be asked or answered. No point in having regrets. But, to be in the _process_ of _losing _a person, not to death, but to distance and difference, that was more like a slow drowning. You knew it was coming, could feel it all around you, but there was nothing to stop it, just the long wait for the inevitable. It really was pretty agonizing. He wanted to stop it, wanted to find some kind of reset button, put things back the way they'd been, but, he couldn't seem to do it. It was like, all that was easy and good between him and Dean had been burned away, and what was left was just…two guys, working toward the same goal, at the same time.

It pretty much sucked.

"Young man, can I ask for your help a minute?"

Sam looked up, noticed an older man standing about five feet away. He was tall, white-haired, with a short, stubbly beard. Sam hadn't even heard him approach. _Nice focus there, Sam. Way to be alert. _He cleared his throat. "Sure. What do you need?"

The man pointed to one of the machines that had stopped. "Hard to reach inside with my bad shoulder. Could you help me get those into a dryer?"

Sam nodded. "Of course." He walked over to the washer, began moving the clothes to one of the wall-mounted dryers. The man smiled, sat in one of the few folding chairs. He watched Sam, pulling on his ear, his head tilted to the side. Sam felt like the old guy was trying to figure something out. When he finished moving all the clothes, he turned to the man, "Regular or Heavy Duty?"

The man considered. "Heavy Duty, I think. Don't want anything damp in this cold weather."

Sam set the dials, loaded in quarters from his own pocket, set the machine to spinning. The man patted the seat next to him. Not wanting to hurt the old guy's feelings, Sam went and sat. The man had a soft smile on his face, and dimples showed through the scruffy beard. "You're not from around here, hmm?"

Sam shook his head. "No. My brother and I, we're just passing through."

The man nodded, rubbed at his short beard. "Where's home, then?"

_Anywhere Dean is, _is what came to him. But, that wasn't strictly true anymore. He looked into the old man's smiling brown eyes. "Nowhere, really."

The man nodded. "Yeah. Nowhere, and everywhere, hmm?"

Sam nodded. "I suppose." He considered the old man. His clothes were comfortable, loose, but not dirty or worn. His eyes were brown, and seemed kind, calm. He looked to be at least 80. "Listen, can I get you something to drink? Or eat? Your clothes are going to take a while. There's a diner just a couple of blocks down."

The man shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about, Sam."

Sam was about to reassure him that he was fine, when he realized the man had used his name. All his easy, relaxed posture evaporated. He sat up, put his hand on the demon-killing blade in his pocket. "Who are you? _What _are you?"

********

Dean finished up his burger, ordered some pie to go, then changed it to eat-in. He didn't really have any place to be. Sam knew he was here. Why not stay and enjoy another cup of coffee and warm pie? If the fact that Sam hadn't shown up yet irked him, he tried to let it go. _The kid's a frickin' grown man. He can walk all night, for all I care, Christmas or not._

An old woman, pushing 80 if she were a day, came up to his table. She was bundled in a sweater, wearing brown stretch pants, her white hair in a bun. "I wonder if you can help me, young man?"

Dean straightened his posture, gave her a smile. "Sure, what do you need, ma'am?"

She indicated something out the window. "My car won't start. Can you imagine? In this weather? You just have the look of someone who knows his way around cars. Maybe you can take a look at it?"

Dean nodded, "Sure. No problem. Let me just tell the waitress to hold my pie."

They walked outside, Dean asking her to point out her car. When she indicated a dark green Chevy Nova, Dean asked for her keys. "Here, give me the keys and go back inside. I'll come get you when I get her started."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. The cold doesn't bother me. I'll just watch. Maybe I'll learn something. You're never too old to learn, you know."

Dean tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Very true. You sure you don't want to go in where it's warm?"

She laughed, touched his arm. "No, dear. I'm fine. Really."

Dean shrugged, popped the hood on the old clunker. He pulled his penlight out of his pocket, saw the problem right off. He smiled, turned to the old lady. "Well, ma'am, your distributor cap is missing. Any chance you heard something fall off in the last block or so? Cause, unless there's a service station nearby, this car isn't starting."

"Oh, dear. Is there anything you can do?"

Dean tried not to sigh. They'd just done about 30 days straight of constant activity, and he'd just wanted his damn pie…then, he glanced at the old woman, saw the kindness in her blue eyes, the calm expectation that he would help her. He nodded. "Sure. Why don't you go inside, and I'll call around, find a parts place somewhere around here, get you hooked up in a jiffy."

She pursed her lips in disappointment. "Oh. Well. Do you suppose I could come with you? I'm not all that interested in sitting inside a diner by myself."

_Perfect. Why not spend the evening driving Miss Daisy? _He called up a smile, "Sure. Come on. There's got to be something close by."

They drove. Dean called information, found a mall in the next town over that had an AutoZone. The woman said her name was Mary, and that she was here to visit her children. Dean perked up at that. "Well, I'd be happy to drop you off with them, bring your car around when it's done. I'm sure you'd rather be with your family, tonight, anyway."

Mary 'hmmed', patted the dashboard, smiled. "What? Oh, no. They're stubborn kids, they don't appreciate anything that they have. I wish I could have done more to make them see…well, can't really say I didn't make mistakes. Because, I did. Big mistakes. But, nothing I can do about that now, right? Just try to make those stubborn boys see how lucky they are…" She trailed of, looked at the cars passing now that they were on the interstate.

Dean saw a sign for the mall. "If we hustle, we can make it, and have you on your way to your family in no time."

Mary sighed. "Do you think much about family, Dean?"

Dean laughed. _If you only knew, lady._ He shrugged. "I suppose, as much as the next guy…" He turned to her, his easy demeanor blown away. "How did you know my name? Who the hell are you?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Sam stared at the old man, who continued to smile calmly. "Oh, Sam. You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not here to hurt you."

Sam was breathing too hard, thrown that even here in this small town Laundromat, things could find him. "Then why are you here?"

The man watched him, shrugged. "Just, trying to find a way to help you."

Sam laughed shortly. "Right. Help me. And who sent you here to 'help' me? Was it Lucifer?"

The man's smile disappeared. "No. No, Sam, it's nothing like that. This has nothing to do with any of that. It's just, I was given an opportunity, just for tonight, as a one-time kind of thing, and I had to take it. Only, that's where my instructions ended. So, I'm really not certain what I can do for you. I only know that you need _something_…your unhappiness is like a damn _aura _around you. I really can't let that go on."

Sam sighed, "Look, let's just part ways and don't worry about trying to help me. I've learned that anything supernatural that is supposed to help me, is going to end up screwing me. So, just forget it. Go on back to where you came from. I'm fine, really."

Sam got up, feeling heavier than he had when he came in. _'Your unhappiness is like an aura…'_ That much he could believe. But, really, so what? What did his unhappiness count for, anyway? He deserved that and more.

"You're wrong, Sam."

Sam was startled that the man had followed him to the door. He turned to face him, his irritation spiking. "I'm sorry, I'm wrong about what?"

"You're wrong that you deserve to be unhappy." He tilted his head, looked hard at Sam for a long, unnerving moment. "Maybe that's it. Maybe you think you have to be unhappy, to make up for all that you think you've done. Or maybe you've forgotten what it actually is that makes you happy. Maybe, it's both. Sam, you're like a shell of a person right now. You don't joke, don't laugh, don't smile at waitresses with those puppy dog eyes anymore. You won't reach out to people the way you used to. You won't let your brother back in. Your heart's all walled up."

Sam held up his hand, took a step back. "I won't let _him_ in? Oh, that's---" He dropped his hand, took a deep breath. "Don't. Don't get all up in my head and try to know who I am. Just…just leave me alone."

The man smiled. It was a remarkably warm, kind smile. "Oh, Sam. I can't do that. I've done that for way too long. Tonight, I'm going to find a way to remind you who you really are, where your heart is, and has always been." He nodded. "Yeah, I think that will work. Maybe we can teach you something about that brother of yours, too."

Sam just stared.

The man put out his hand. "I'm John, by the way."

Sam rolled his eyes, didn't take John's hand. Instead, he stared into John's kind brown eyes. He didn't think the old guy actually meant to harm him, but, Sam really wasn't up for anything weird tonight. He was beat. He should probably get back to Dean before he took off without him. He opened his mouth to tell John 'thanks, but no, thanks…' but, he blinked and they were no longer in the Laundromat. Instead, it was a sunny, hot day, and they were standing outside a ratty motel. Sam looked around. The cars were old, and the man who was crossing the parking lot had a mullet that would shame Billy Ray Cyrus. The door to room 105 opened, right in front of them. Dad and Dean came outside. Only Dean was about 10 years old.

_Oh, God, the Ghost of Christmas Past? Really?!_

Dean was carrying Dad's weapons bag, while Dad carried his duffle and rattled off instructions. "Don't unlock the door for anyone but me. I'll use Howard Hughes as my i.d. You can go out during the day, but not after 5:00. Make sure Sammy does his reading. There should be plenty of food for three or four days. I'll try to be back in two. Call Pastor Jim or Bobby if I'm not back in five. Got it?"

Sam had seen this scene hundreds of times during his childhood. He didn't know what he could possibly learn from watching it now. He turned to John to tell him just that. But, when he got a look at John's face, he stopped. John looked pretty disgusted with what was going down with Dean and Dad. Sam nudged him. "What?"

John sighed, shook his head.

Then, Sam saw his little six year-old self come out. He was carrying a grocery bag. "Daddy, here's your lunch. Peanut butter and jelly, potato chips, two apples, an orange…"

Dad nodded at him. "Thanks, son." He turned to Dean. "This is important, Dean. Remember what I said. And watch out for Sammy, okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Dad. I know. Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? I could watch your back, make sure the" he glanced at Sam, "_guy_ doesn't catch you by surprise."

Dad smiled. "No, dude, I got it. You stay here, and hold the fort."

Dean gave a weak smile in return. "Sure." But, Grown-Sam could see the tension and disappointment on Dean's face. Even his little self saw it, came over to Dean and took his hand. Dean sighed, shook his hand free. Little Sam got a stubborn look on his face, stepped closer, and took Dean's hand again. He pulled on it, until Dean looked down at him. A look passed between those two little boys that Sam felt all the way to his soul. _I'm here, you're not alone, we'll be okay…_

Dad was oblivious, just finished loading the car. He slammed the trunk, took the keys and tossed them from hand to hand. "You boys got this?"

They both nodded, spoke in unison. "Yes, sir."

Dad ruffled little Sam's hair, put a hand on Dean's shoulder, nodded to them and got in. Sam watched Dean's ten year-old face, as he said goodbye to his father. He didn't look like Sam's cocky, mouthy older brother. He looked like a kid who was anxious and afraid. He was ten, for God's sake, and not only had he sent his dad off to hunt some supernatural nasty, but he'd been given responsibility for a six year-old kid, as well.

Dad drove away, and little Sammy tugged on Dean's hand again. "Hey, Dean?"

Dean was still watching the Impala. "What?"

Sammy was watching Dean. "Wanna play some blackjack?"

Dean's eyes stayed on the road. "Not right now."

Little Sammy nodded, thought some more. "How about we go get some more comics?"

Dean sighed, looked down at Sammy, and some of the pinched tension left his face. "You don't even like comics."

Little Sammy smiled. "I like some of them. I like that you read them, and then I can have the t.v. for cartoons. Maybe after that, we can go to the arcade? You still haven't broken the record on Barbarella and the Beast."

Dean nodded. Cast one more look down the road, after Dad, then turned back to the room. "Let's get some cash. And I choose the toppings on the pizza at the arcade."

Little Sammy nods, laughs, and follows Dean inside the room.

Sam turns to John next to him. "Why did I need to see that? It's just one goodbye of a thousand."

John looks at him, for a long, almost too long, moment. A corner of his mouth kicks up, and he puts his hand back on Sam's shoulder. "Come on. We're not done."

Sam blinks, is disoriented for a minute. When his vision clears, he's standing inside another crap hotel room. Dean is about 16, standing at the window, looking out. Little Sammy is now 12, and chubby and awkward looking. Grown-Sam, standing with John, tries to remember where they might be. Even though he and Dean aren't talking, Sam can feel the tension between the two boys in the room. Finally, little Sam walks over to Dean. "Hey, wanna go get some milkshakes?"

Dean glances at him. "Like you need the calories, tubbo." He turns back to the window.

Sam nods, looks around the room. "I bet I could beat you at Clue."

Dean snorts. "You haven't beat me in, like, 20 games, Sammy."

Sam smiles. "But, maybe I could _this_ time." And Grown-Sam remembers that Dean had been in a phase at this age, where he loved playing Clue. It wasn't Sam's game, it was too random, not really requiring any skill or strategy that he could see. But, he remembered that Dean's mood always improved after a game of Clue. Especially, because, hard as he did try, Sam almost never won.

Dean sighs, drops the curtain and turns to little Sam. "What are you, a glutton for punishment?"

And Grown-Sam remembers where they are. This was Montana, and Dad was supposed to be back after two days. It had been about a week before he showed. Sam remembered thinking that Dean was scared. That he needed to get his brother's mind off Dad. They'd both known, at this point, the kinds of things Dad was hunting. He was scared, too, but more worried about Dean being scared. So, he'd spent the week bugging Dean to play Clue or Stratego with him, take him to the arcade, the library, out for food, just, anything to get rid of that scared look. And, when it worked, Sam was happy.

Little Sam was already setting up the game board, and he went over to his duffle in the corner. He took out a brown paper bag he had stashed in there. And, Grown-Sam suddenly remembered what it was. He had saved all the change he'd collected from candy machines and pay phones to get Dean a treat. He walked back over to where Dean was chewing on a fingernail. When Sam sat down across from him, Dean started shuffling the Clue game cards. Sam passed him the paper bag.

Dean looked up at him. "What? Is this for me?"

Sam nodded, sifted through the game pieces, deciding to be the rope for this one. Dean opened the bag, Little Sam watched him out of the corner of his eye. It was nothing, really. Just two Slim Jims and a Batman comic. Dean took them both out of the bag, and then looked at Sam. "What's this for?"

Little Sam shrugged. Sam remembered thinking, 'so you aren't so scared and sad that Dad is gone…' But, he hadn't said that to Dean, of course.

Dean nodded, like he got it. He looked at Little Sammy, and Grown-Sam was kind of choked up to see the love and gratitude on Dean's face as he looked at little him. "Thanks, Sammy."

Little Sam looked up and positively beamed at Dean. He was so glad it had worked. Even if just for a little while. The two boys looked at each other, and again, it was the, '_I'm here, we'll get through this,' _thing. After a long moment, little Sam shrugged, like it was no biggie. "You're welcome. Now, roll the dice and prepare to lose."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, I'm shakin' in my boots, here, Sammy."

There was a blink, and another shift. This time, they were grown. It was dark, they were both on the ground, with a dead chupacabra on the ground between them. Sam remembered this hunt. It had been about a year and a half after Jess, after they'd started hunting again. They'd both taken a big hit from the thing before they could get it with the silver bullets. Sam remembered the urgency to burn the body before it could reanimate. He crawled across the grass, checking on Dean, who, if he remembered correctly, had had a concussion. Dean waved him off, rolled over on his side and threw up. Sam patted his back, and took the matches and lighter fluid from his jacket. He torched the Chupa, and worked his way back over to Dean.

Sam turned to John. "Why are we watching this? Nothing happened but a long-ass walk through the woods…"

John turned and a corner of his mouth kicked up in a small smile. "Just watch."

Now-Sam looked back to where younger Sam was talking quietly to Dean. "I know it hurts, man. But, we gotta get you out of here. It's about a mile back to the car. I'm really sorry about this, but, I'm gonna have to carry you." Sam wiped the blood off his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket, so he could see better. Dean mumbled something about walking out his 'own damn self.' Sam just sighed out a laugh. "Right. I'm sure you could jog it and break the five minute mile, but, let's just pretend that you're concussed and sporting a wrenched knee and bad ankle, just for fun. And, I carry you out, hmm?"

He hefts Dean up on to back, like a grown up piggy back ride. Dean leans his head on Sam's shoulder, mumbles, 'Sorry,' and closes his eyes.

Young Sam sways a bit with the extra weight, then starts walking. "Hey, I've gotcha. But, you've got to try to stay awake. You fall asleep and we'll both go down."

Dean murmurs, "I hate the woods, Sammy."

Young Sam walks, weaves a bit as he tries again to clear the blood in his eye. "Hey Dean, remember that water sprite we were chasing in Florida? She kept dowsing us, and we should have been really scared, cause she could have drowned us, like, any time? Instead, we were laughing hysterically, 'cause it was so damn hot and all her cold water actually felt pretty awesome…" They continue to walk off through the woods.

Sam remembered finding the car just as his legs had turned to jelly. They'd laid up in a hotel for nearly a week before Dean had been good to go.

He turned to John. "Well, that was boring, what was I---"

Sam blinked and he and John were in the motel room where Dean had tracked him and Ruby just before they'd gone to kill Lilith and release Lucifer. Sam pulled on John's arm, "I don't need to see this."

John looked at him. "You do."

Sam shook his head, "No, I remember it perfectly. Please, let's go."

John turned to him, and Sam focused on him instead of on the words he and Dean were hurling at each other. 'Dean, please trust me…' 'I'll go anywhere with you, just leave her here…' 'You're a monster…' 'You don't know me…' 'If you walk out that door, don't come back…'

John sighed. "You think Dean can't look at you because you started the apocalypse. You think he's done looking out for you because you let him down by drinking demon blood."

Sam's brows went up in a 'duh' expression. "Yes. And?"

John turns Sam's shoulders so he has to face the scene in front of him. "Look at your brother's face."

Sam sees himself slam out of the room, Dean writhing on the floor, weak from Sam's choking off his breath. The look of heartbreak and loss on Dean's face is pretty obvious. He curls into a ball on the floor and starts crying. John speaks softly from behind him. "This was before you let Lucifer out, Sam. And, he'd known about the demon blood for months."

Sam can't look away from Dean's face. He's _crying_, lying on the floor and _crying_, because Sam had walked out on him, had chosen Ruby over him. There's a hollow ache in his chest, and he feels again the tide of regret he's been swimming in. Only, this time, it's not about Lilith or Lucifer or Ruby. It's just about him and Dean, and what Sam did to break them.

He turned to talk to John, and they were back in the Laundromat. Sam tried to speak around the lump in his throat. _That's why Dean can't look at me? That's why he doesn't slap my head or joke around…_Sam remembered that day differently. In his blood-fueled mind, it had been _Dean's _abandoning _him._ He'd thought Dean had washed his hands of Sam, that he was too weak to do the hard thing, going after Lilith. That _Ruby _was the one who'd understood him and his mission. He'd been too wrapped up in the fact that Dean had locked him in the panic room, practically killing him, and then, in that room, Dean finally calling him a monster? Not once, but twice, with his phone message…Sam shook his head. He could see it now, how he had regretted a lot of things, but _that _he had been blaming on Dean. _Wow. The demon blood really had screwed up my thinking…more than I realized._

John leaned against the table, hands in his pockets, just watching Sam. Sam clears his throat. "But, there's nothing I can do to change that night."

John gives him a half smile, one dimple poking out. "None of us can change anything we've done in the past, Sam. If you think you're the only one with regrets, you're dead wrong."

Sam sighed, sat down in a folding chair and put his head in his hands. "I don't know how to make it better…"

John laughs. "You're looking at this wrong. Sam, you have always been able to see when your brother needed you. You did it easy as breathing."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You think a game of clue and a Slim Jim are going to fix this distance with Dean?"

John snorts. "Get your head out of your ass, son. The distance isn't the thing to fix. It's just a symptom of what's really wrong here."

Sam looks at him, confused. John seems to be done talking. He folds his arms, and just raised a brow at Sam.

And then, Sam gets it. _Dean is sad and scared. Same as me. He thinks he's lost me, just like I think I've lost him._

He turns to John. "You think I can make it better? Really?"

John smiles, and dimples appear in his grizzled cheeks. "Like breathing, Sam."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

As they drove down the interstate, the old woman watched Dean. He glanced at her and she smiled, her blue eyes crinkling up at the corners. "Don't be scared, Dean. I'm not here to hurt you."

Dean wondered briefly at the weirdness of his life, that he took her at her word. "Then, why are you here?"

Her gaze remained warm. "You could say I was given a chance to help you, just for tonight."

"Help me with what?"

Mary looked away, gazed out the window. "You wished tonight that your brother had never been born."

Dean felt shame and anger move through him equally. "How is that your business?"

She murmured, "You'd be surprised…" Then, she looked back over at him. "I got the idea from that Jimmy Stewart movie. You know the one, where he wishes he'd never been born, so he gets a chance to see what his life would have been like? All the people his life touched, and how he'd actually made everything easier for those around him, not harder?"

Dean had never seen the movie, didn't really know what she was talking about. "What has that got to do with me?"

Mary shrugged. "I thought we could do the same thing, only, with a twist."

Dean sighed. Really, he'd just wanted to help an old lady get her car started on a snowy night. "What, you want me to see all the people I've helped and how my life has been so worthwhile?"

He glanced over at her, and her expression sober and serious. "No. I want you to see what your life would have been like if Sam had never been born."

Dean blinks and the car is gone. They're standing in the corner of an outdated living room. Dad is there, and he's talking to Missouri Mosely. It must be a few weeks after the fire. Dean remembers this, now that he's seeing it again. Dad has his head in his hands, he's crying_. _Dean's four year-old self is sitting on the floor, running a car back and forth on the rug. But, that's different than he remembers. He had been holding Sammy, running the car over his chubby little legs.

_Oh, right. This is life without Sam. Looks like we still had the fire, though…_

Dad looks up at Missouri, wiping his cheeks, and taking a deep breath. "I don't know what to do, Missouri. Dean said a man was standing over him, and he dripped some 'soup' into his mouth. Then, Mary came in and she flew up to the ceiling and blew up."

Now-Dean's heart speeds up. _Yellow eyes came for _me_ that night? _So, if Sam had never been born, mom's deal still came due. Only, it would have been _Dean _who got the blood.

Missouri puts her hand on John's arm. "This is not something I've ever heard of…But, I can tell you that real evil was in that house. If it touched Dean, somehow, you should probably consider an exorcism."

John looks haunted. "Jesus, Missouri. On a four year-old?"

Now-Dean turns to Mary. He doesn't even really know what he's going to say, just, _what the hell?!..._

He blinks and it's nighttime. They're in some crappy apartment, and little Dean is screaming in his bed. He looks about six. John sits on the edge of the cot Dean's laying on. He puts his hand on Dean's chest. "Hey, Dean, wake up, son. It's just a dream…"

Little Dean stops crying. He's panting, tossing around, mumbling. Now-Dean steps closer to hear what he's saying. "Something is in me…I can feel something in me...Pastor Jim, get it out…"

John looks lost. He scrubs a hand down his face, reaches to pull little Dean into his arms. "Come here, Dean…"

Little Dean wakes up, his eyes flying open. "Daddy?"

John rubs a hand down little Dean's back. "Right here, Dean."

Dean's tear-streaked eyes look up at him. "Why can't you get it out of me?"

John sighs. "I don't know, son. I'm trying."

Little Dean calms his panting, turns away from John. "Why did this have to happen? Why can't you fix it?"

Dad looks down, defeated and heartbroken. Now-Dean watches his little self curl into a ball away from his father, crying.

Dean blinks and he and Mary are in a hotel room. It's typical Winchester 1980's vintage, with crap wall paper and two doubles, both unmade. Dad is looking at a ten year-old Dean. He asks for Dean's arm. Little Dean sighs, puts it out and pulls up his sleeve. Dad dips a silver knife in holy water, runs the blade over the pale skin of Dean's forearm. There is a network of scars up and down the arm. Little Dean hisses, but otherwise doesn't react. Dad sighs, nods at Dean to drop his arm. Dad looks tired and sad and old. "Still clean, for now. Feel anything different?"

Little Dean rolls his eyes. "Just that same humming under my skin. I told you I'd tell you if it changed. Back off, Dad."

Now-Dean is taken aback by his snide tone to his father, waits for the set-down John Winchester is sure to give. Instead, his dad looks nervous. He holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Sorry, Dean. Just checking."

_Dad is afraid of me. _Now-Dean realizes, in the furtive looks John is giving little Dean, he's backing away from him. "Listen, Dean, I've got to take off for a few days. There's a haunting up in Connecticut I've got to take care of."

Little Dean turns to Dad, gives him a raised brow. "I don't think so, Dad."

Dad's shoulders drop. "Dean, people are dying up there. It will only take a couple of days."

Little Dean gets a cold look in his eyes. "I said 'no,' Dad. There's a pool tournament here tonight. You're going to play and win us some cash."

Dad looks pissed, but he doesn't say anything. Sighs, and puts a few things in his duffle. "Fine. Then I'll take off first thing tomorrow, then."

Dean sits on the bed. "We'll see."

And little Dean turns on the t.v. Behind his back, Dad looks at him with both fear and resentment in his eyes, maybe a sad kind of affection. He nods. "Okay. We'll see, then."

Now-Dean turned to Mary. "Dad is afraid of me?"

Mary smiled sadly. "He really tries not to be. At least, in these years."

Dean swallowed. "What happens later?"

Mary looked down, examined her fingernails. "You won't like it."

Dean snorted. "No, really?"

Dean blinks and he's sitting with Mary in the backseat of the Impala. Dean is an adult now, driving in the front seat, listening to…is that _the Sex Pistols? Jesus._ Young Dean is on the phone, "Dad, you're going to have to talk to me sooner or later. It's been a year. Man up, for Christ's sake. I won't bite. Just want to know where you are. Call me." He shuts the phone and lets it fall to the empty seat next to him. "Coward."

This Dean looks to be about 22, and he's pulling into a parking lot. The area looks seedy and shady and young Dean takes a roll of cash out of the glove box. "Time to get some liquid gold…"

Now-Dean got a bad feeling. He turned to Mary. "Oh, please tell me this isn't what it looks like."

Mary sighed. "Things have not been easy for you, Dean. You can feel that something is in you, and the dreams have started. Yellow Eyes is showing you his plans for you. You've started having visions of other people dying bloody. Headaches, depression…mainly a deep and abiding loneliness that you can't seem to shake…It's all been…a bit too much for you."

Dean looked out the side window, saw young Dean make the exchange of cash for drugs. "And where is Dad during all this Basketball Diaries shit?"

"Your dad has taken off to hunt Azazel. It's the only thing he can think of to try to help you. He's hoping that, if he kills the source of your blood, it will end the cravings and the mood swings…He won't find him for a few years."

Young Dean gets back in the car, rolls up his sleeve right there in the front seat. He ties off his upper arm with some rubber tubing. Taking a syringe out of the glove box, he uses the lighter of the Impala to melt a rock of heroin right there in the front seat. And, he's _smiling._

_I'm a damn junkie, and I'm happy about it? _

Dean turned to Mary. "Okay, I get it. I'm a drugged out, lonely guy and I can't handle the demon blood. So, thank God there was Sam to take all this on because I couldn't deal. Can we please go back, now?"

Mary looked at him, her eyes sad. "Oh, Dean. You still aren't seeing it, are you?"

Dean felt his anger pulse. "Oh, I see, alright. I'm a weakling, Sam's the strong one. Dad is afraid of me and, what? I die in some alley of an overdose? Well, at least there's no apocalypse, huh?"

Mary watched young Dean bliss out in the front seat on his heroin. "No, you're still alive, and the apocalypse still starts."

Dean raised a brow. "What? How can Lucifer get out if there was no Sam?"

Mary sighed. "You really won't like it."

Dean looked at her. "I know. Show me."

Another blink, and they're inside the monastery in Maryland. Dean is watched as Junkie-Dean raises his hand and shoots power out at Lilith. His eyes go black, and there's a skeevy grin on his face. Lilith goes down, and the blood trail that will create the door to hell begins. Dean turned to Mary. "Why am I killing Lilith? I never made the deal for Sam, if he was never born."

"They didn't have Sam to manipulate, so they used you. They sent your father to hell, set him up in a deal to save your life. In hell, your father broke the first seal. The angels let you know that Lilith was the one behind it all – Azazel coming for you, the blood, your mom, your dad's death..." The monastery started to tremble. Mary looked intently at Dean. "The angels and demons, both, have been after you for the last few years, circling to find out what they could do to you to make you embrace the power in your blood. They've been setting this up for a long time, Dean."

Dean tried to keep his breathing even, swallowed back nausea Lilith's blood trail formed a portal. "And where's Castiel?"

"He's working with the angels to bring on the apocalypse. He wasn't inspired to change his course upon meeting…this version of you."

Dean watched as his other self stands there, the white light starting to swirl, and instead of getting the hell out, this Dean _smiles._

Now-Dean gets a very bad feeling, watching that smile. _I wanted this to happen…_

The other Dean watches as Lucifer spills from hell. From somewhere above, a sound is streaking toward them. Now-Dean recognizes that sound. It's the same one he heard when Castiel first tried to talk to him, back in Pontiac.

The light flashes so bright that, supernatural visitor or not, Dean and Mary have to close their eyes. When the light goes out, Dean opens his eyes to see a dark, floating form and a light, floating form, one on either side of the other Dean. And the other Dean is kind of getting off on this whole thing. He looks excited and weirdly satisfied as the two forces square off. Looking between the two of them, other-Dean laughs. "Let me guess, Michael and Lucifer, right? Oh, this is rich! You both need a vessel, and you both want me, isn't that right? Hmm…whom shall I choose? Lucifer, who wants to rule the earth and command his minions to dominate and destroy humanity? Or Michael, who wants to destroy the earth so Lucifer has nothing to rule? And both of you need my consent! What to do, what to do…?"

Now-Dean looked at Mary. "Take me back."

Mary gazed back at him, long and hard and serious.

Dean felt a desperation working its way through his chest. "Please, Mary. Take me back."

Dean blinked, and they were back in the Impala, a light snow falling, parked in front of the diner. Mary put her ancient hand on Dean's arm. Her voice came softly. "All your life, you have cared for your brother, made him feel loved, secure. Not feared, not rejected. He's a good person, Dean, mostly because of you. You've been thinking lately that he's a burden, I know. 'Why couldn't he have just been _normal,' _right? But, it was your mother who made sure evil was going to touch your family, not Sam. There was nothing you or Sam, or even John could have done about that. But, instead of what you saw tonight, you made a family out of the Winchesters. Real love and loyalty exists between you and your brother. The blood? The apocalypse? The angels and demons pulling at you both? If you let all of that pull you apart…" She shook her head, removed her hand. "There is a lot of evil in this world, Dean. You know that better than anyone. But, what you have with Sam, the _home _you have with Sam? That is part of what's good in the world. You know what keeps him going? What keeps him from becoming like that boy we saw tonight? It's your love, your friendship, your _belief _that you will both find a way out of this destiny trap. Because of you , he still believes that somehow, he's going to be alright, that the blood in his veins, the agenda of the devil himself will not win."

Dean thinks about that, considers him and Sam. He thinks about what they have between them that's good. He had really only been focusing on all the things that had gone wrong between them. He does know that Sam has kept him human, kept him sane, when all this evil crap could have driven him right around the bend. He remembered his trip to the future, the cold-hearted bastard he was without Sam there to anchor him. And, he thought about all the other demon-kids that he and Sam had met over the years. All of them had ended badly. Sam was the only one still fighting the dark side. Dean hadn't given the kid enough credit for that. Hadn't given himself enough credit, either. Together, they might not be _stronger_, but they were _better_. They were more human. _We could have turned out to be total dicks if we hadn't had each other._

Mary patted his arm, then put her hands in her lap. "Dean, he's made some big mistakes. You both have. Right now? He thinks he's lost you because of those mistakes. He thinks you're _afraid _of him, disgusted by him. If that's true, well, I guess we've wasted our time tonight, and I'm sorry. But, this is your family, Dean. The only one you're going to have. And just like all his life, he's looking to you to see what to do next."

Dean looked out the window, watched the snow fall as he thought about what he had seen tonight. The demon would have come, Sam or no Sam. He would have infected Dean, who would have been old enough to tell his Dad, and that would have been that. Dad would have looked at him just like that guy tonight had. With fear, confusion and revulsion. And Dean would have _laughed_ as Satan and Michael squared off to lure him into being one vessel or another.

All his life, he'd had Sam to look after. Instead of appreciating that, he'd grown to resent it, that _he_ had been the one who'd had to raise the kid. But, really, it was Sam who taught him how to love, how to _be_ loved. Dad had done his best, but he'd been obsessed with saving the world from the fate that had befallen him, and he just hadn't been around. Sam had been the one who played games with him and made him laugh. The kid who took his insults and pranks, who'd cajoled him out of his pissy moods. The one who took care of him when he was sick or hurt. Sam had made him feel a part of something. He'd made him feel needed.

How could Dean have sunk so low as to wish Sam had never been born? Mary was right. Sam was his _family. _And Dean was the guy who was going to just let him wander away, head down, thinking Dean was done with him? On freakin' Christmas Eve, no less?

Dean couldn't change anything that had happened. Couldn't stop Yellow Eyes from killing Jess or Dad, even Sam himself. Couldn't take back the deal to bring Sam back. Couldn't change that he went to hell and left Sam to Ruby. Couldn't do anything about the damn angels and demons hovering over them and circling like vultures. As much as all that sucked, they'd both just done the best they knew how with the information they had at the time.

Dean knew Sam had thought he was doing the right thing, going after Lilith. All is life, even if his logic was shit, his heart had almost always been in the right place. Mary had said Sam was a good person, because of Dean. If that was true, then, thank God.

But, Sam had given something to Dean, too. Sam had given Dean a heart. He'd loved Dean, no matter what. Even as they'd unraveled these past couple of years, Dean didn't think that had changed. He was kind of ashamed that he'd forgotten that.

He turned to tell Mary that she was right---

He was alone in the car, the snow still softly falling.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Sam walked back toward the diner. The snow was tapering off, and the wind was dying down. It was a quiet night, the weather having taken the cars and people off the streets. He saw the light shining out of the diner's window and felt a nervous shiver go through him. It was hard to tell himself to drop his defenses and his guilt, and just be Dean's brother again. But, seeing the two of them over all the years as he had tonight…it reminded him that they were pretty good at being brothers. _That _was what was important to Sam. He liked who he was when he was being Dean's little brother. The Sam who was always trying to fight destiny, fight the world and Heaven and Hell? He wasn't so crazy about that guy. He took in a deep breath. It was time to stop letting outside events define who he was. He couldn't change what had happened, but he could damn sure do better at being Sam Winchester. Maybe he could try being the guy who looked out for his brother, and himself, before he worried about the outside forces swirling around him.

Sam was going to have to trust his instincts. He did know Dean, that much was still true. He'd maybe chosen to not let himself really _see_ his brother for a long time. Since before Hell, even. Because it had all been so hard, so damn sad and wrenching to think of Dean suffering because he'd wanted to save Sam. So, yeah, he'd done a damn fine job of walling himself up. Nothing could touch Robo-Sam, so nothing could hurt him. But, that hadn't turned out all that well. He was lonely even sitting right next to the one person who ought to make him feel at home. If he had a shot at changing that, then he had to take it. Even if it meant opening himself up again. He had to try. Because the guy he'd been when they'd come into town tonight? That guy was a good hunter, but a sorry excuse for a brother.

He walked into the warmth of the diner and looked for Dean. He was sitting at a booth in the corner, hunched on his elbows, staring down at the table. Sam squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked over. When he got to the edge of the table, he cleared his throat. Dean looked up. Sam made himself hold his gaze. Before tonight, he would have looked away, not wanting to see what _wasn't _in his brother's eyes anymore. But, this time, Sam just looked at him, tried to read his expression, drop his own defenses and just see _Dean._ As Dean looked at him Sam could see speculation, concern, and, there, underneath, the same look he'd seen on Dean's face for most of his life, 'you okay, Sammy?' It was all written right there.

Sam smiled. He could do this. It _was _like breathing for him. He couldn't believe he'd let himself forget. Dean was his _brother._ _What a total idiot I've been. _Sam nodded toward the open seat. "Okay if I join you?"

********

Dean saw Sam come in, and apprehension filled him. He wondered if Sam could somehow tell he'd wished him away, earlier tonight. Dean considered telling him about Mary and his Magical Mystery Tour. Decided against it. _Yeah, Sam, I kinda wished you'd never been born tonight…_There was no good way for Sam to take that. Whatever Mary had been, angel, spectre, ghost, she had helped Dean get his head out of his ass, and he could only be grateful to her.

Sam saw him, stood at the edge of the table, like he needed permission to sit down, for Christ's sake. Dean didn't know how to start. _'Hey, Sam, I get how you've done the best you could fighting the demon blood…wish I hadn't been such a dick about the whole thing…wish you'd trusted me to help you, wish that I'd been _able _to help you…I just want you to be okay.' _But, what came out of his mouth was, "Shut up and sit, doofus."

Sam laughed, he sat. He had this weird half smile on his face. Weird, because, frankly, Dean hadn't seen him look that relaxed in a long time. Sam looked right at him, no staring at the table, or skating his gaze around. Just, that slight smile. "So, what's good?"

Dean smirked. "It's a diner, Sam. You're going to order a girly Cobb salad and Coke, so what difference does it make what's good?"

The waitress came over. Sam looked up at her, gave her a warm smile. Dean couldn't help his eyebrows going up. _Sam was smiling? At a stranger? For no reason? _Dean wondered just where Sam had been the last couple hours. Had he---?

Sam glanced at the waitresses name tag. "Hi, Denise. How's the meatloaf here?"

Denise smiled back at Sam. "It's the best thing on the menu. Can I bring mashed potatoes, gravy and biscuits with that?"

Sam nodded, kept smiling. "That sounds great. And a piece of warm apple pie with a scoop of vanilla for my brother."

Dean tiltled his head. "Well, your mood took an upturn."

Sam looked over at him, his smile going softer. "Yeah. Yeah, it did. Listen, Dean, um, I want to say something. I'm sorry---"

Dean held up a hand, "Sam, please, would you stop? We've covered just about everything you're sorry for, like, 100 times. Just drop it, will ya?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I want to say this, so, please, just listen a minute?"

Dean rolled his eyes, made a gesture to go on.

Sam rubbed his hands along his thighs, in one of his nervous tells. His eyes got serious, and he leaned in toward Dean. "I've been a crappy brother to you, for the last couple years. And, I'm sorry for that. I didn't understand…I let myself get distracted by a lot of things, and I shouldn't have. You're my family, Dean. I lost sight of that, and took a lot of stuff out on you that wasn't your fault. I hope, even if it's not right now, that you can find a way to forgive me. I'll understand if you can't, I just wanted to---"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Dean started to speak, found himself getting choked up. Because, he looked at his little brother, and his eyes were alive, again. He was leaning in, looking at Dean with something like, affection? Acceptance? Whatever it was, it put a damn lump in his throat. He wanted to tell Sam that he understood, tell him that he's sorry, too, and that he's going to do better, be a better brother. But, instead, the words don't come and he just sits there, staring back at Sam. And, in a moment that practically sings through Dean, because it's so _them, _Sam smiled and gave him 'the look.' The one that said, _'I get it. I'm here. You and me…' _

And, friggin' hell, Dean got _emotional. _In a damn diner. He felt his eyes getting moist, tried to pull it in, and man up. Then, Sam's smile went all trembly, and he put his hand on Dean's arm. And Dean knew. Just like that, they're on the same page, again_. Sam gets it._

And, Dean, for the first time in _forever, _feels lucky_. _ He feels lucky that Sam is his brother, that they have this bond. That they have each other to try to get through this shit storm. He made himself hold Sam's gaze, let him see all he's feeling in that moment. It's like a world of understanding passes between them. All Dean can choke out is, "Me, too."

Sam nodded, turned away to wipe a tear. Oh, for God's sake. _Was he trying to get me to cry like a damn woman, too? _Sam's voice is quiet, warm. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean shakes his head. "No, don't thank me. I haven't exactly been brother of the year, either."

Sam chuckles. "Fair enough."

Dean looks affronted. "What? You've been a worse brother than I have."

Sam's smile dims for a moment, and Dean thinks he veered wrong. But, then, Sam's mouth curls up in a half smile. "Fair enough. But, I'm neater. And, I don't snore."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Screw you, I don't snore."

Sam smirks. "Like Fred Flintstone, man."

Dean gapes. "Yeah, well, at least I'm not a doofus."

"Doofus, huh? So nice to see your reading of Dostoevsky is paying off."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Like I care what some old Russian dude has to say."

The waitress brings Sam's food, and Dean's pie, and they dig in. Sam looks up, "Surprised you even know he's Russian."

Dean smirks. "A chick I knew in Arizona _loved _the guy. I had to buy the cliff notes just to ask her out…What a lot of whining and navel gazing. And snow. Jesus, it was always snowing with that guy…"

Sam forks up some potatoes. "Snow was a metaphor, Dean…"

Outside the diner, John and Mary stand and watch the boys' animated conversation through the window. They turn to each other and join hands. They disappear in a shaft of light.

The End


End file.
